


Untapped Instincts

by Syntaxeme



Series: Adventures in Divine Parenting [2]
Category: Book of Life (2014)
Genre: Anxiety, Babies, Character Development, Developing Relationship, F/M, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-19
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-26 07:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntaxeme/pseuds/Syntaxeme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a few weeks since Xibalba surprised La Muerte with the "gift" of a baby. During that time, he's considered the child (Amaris) as a precious item that belongs to his wife. As such, and knowing how vulnerable and defenseless babies are, he's constantly terrified that it--the baby--is going to get broken or damaged somehow, which leads him to be incredibly anxious any time he's around it. </p><p>This instance gives us some insight as to his thought process and whether or not his feelings about it will ever change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untapped Instincts

            “She’s not so dangerous, see? Haven’t you gotten _any_ more comfortable around her?” Xibalba would have answered his wife’s questions, had he not been too busy drowning in irony. To put it plainly, no, he hadn’t gotten even the slightest bit more comfortable over the past month that they’d had the child—but it seemed she was very comfortable with him. At the moment, he was pinned to a chair in the den, unable to move because Amaris was curled up in his arms, and he didn’t dare disturb her. Despite his obvious anxiety any time he was persuaded or forced into holding her, she always seemed to relax and calm down when he did. Neither parent could determine why, though La Muerte had theorized that she was intentionally staying calm in order to make Papi feel better.

            “I know it isn’t _dangerous_ ,” he said, still having trouble thinking of the baby as an actual person, rather than just a very fragile keepsake. “That’s the problem. It doesn’t have my armor or your temper. It’s just…vulnerable.” Of course, he would have said he was only concerned about the child’s wellbeing in respect to La Muerte’s happiness; other than that, he placed little value on it.

            “That’s why _she_ needs to be taken care of,” his wife said as she left the room, leaving the two winged deities alone and Xibalba floundering. He stared pointedly down at the child, who looked back at him with sleepy, half-lidded eyes. They were a bit like her mother’s had once been, hollow and black, but rather than simply _seeming_ fiery, there looked to be actual flames dancing in place of irises, presently dim and red because she was tired. He bent down a bit closer to speak to it quietly.

            “Escúchame. Stay with her, will you? You’re here because _she_ wanted you, and you’re much more likely to end up broken if you keep clinging to me. ¿Comprende?” She stared at him a moment longer before smiling and wriggling in his arms, reaching up to try to grab at his beard. Seeing her move at all while in his grasp made him panic. “Ay! Stay still!”

            “Is she giving you too much trouble, mi vida?” La Muerte laughed as she returned with a bottle of warm horchata in her hand.

            “Just take it,” he muttered, offering her up to her mother. Smiling and shaking her head, she gave him the bottle. He accepted it, assuming she just needed both hands to take the baby from him—but she just patted his head and walked away, leaving him frantic but immobile, calling after her. “Amor? Don’t do this to me; I can’t—”

            “You can,” she argued, returning just for a moment to kiss his cheek. “She’s here to stay, cariño. You’ll have to get used to her sometime. Just relax, and you’ll both be fine.”

            “Where are you going?” he demanded, still feeling betrayed by her willful abandonment.

            “I have work to do, my love. I’ll be back in just a few hours,” she said. “She’ll probably fall asleep once she’s finished eating, and then you won’t have to worry about her anymore. Once I’m home, I’ll take her back, all right?” He refused to answer, pouting intensely until her thumb gently stroked across one of his cheekbones, her lips gracing the other.

            “Mph. Fine,” he mumbled, and La Muerte smiled. After a brief kiss to the baby’s forehead, she grabbed up her sombrero and disappeared out the door. Once she was gone, he only felt tenser. She could’ve at least stayed to teach him how to do this. Well, how difficult could it be? The function itself was simple enough. Hesitant though he was, he managed to touch the rubber tip to Amaris’s lips, and she immediately latched on, drinking eagerly. It seemed she knew more about the process than he did, for which he was grateful.

            After a minute or so had passed—with Xibalba rigid and silent—he began to notice that she was making more sounds of effort and appeared to be tilting her head awkwardly. Oh no. He was doing it wrong, just as expected. Struggling to stay calm and fix whatever was wrong, he raised her to sit up a bit more in his arms, holding her closer in the process. He must have been doing something right, because she relaxed again, much to his relief.

            “Look at you,” he muttered. “You can’t even _tell me_ what’s the matter. And what if I couldn’t fix it? You can’t go on relying on others your entire life…you aren’t listening to me at all, are you?” Indeed, it was clear that her meal was the only thing on her mind at the time. So he stopped trying to offer his valuable life lessons, sitting back in the chair and letting her finish eating. She had almost emptied the bottle by the time she pulled away from it. Xibalba debated briefly on whether he should insist she drink the whole thing, but he didn’t want to risk overfilling her and damaging her insides. So he set the bottle aside and wiped her mouth with a corner of the blanket in which she was wrapped.

            Just as his wife had said, Amaris’s already heavy eyelids were drooping even more, her eyes barely open so they emitted just the faintest glow. She looked anything but intimidating, so why was he so nervous? After a few moments of fighting sleep, frightening Xibalba with every fitful squirm, she eventually settled down, and her head fell back to rest against his arm. When he was fully convinced that she was sleeping, he allowed himself to relax a bit as well, slightly sore from staying tense for so long. How could his wife pretend that such an ordeal was so commonplace? At least it was over then, and as long as she stayed asleep, he would be able to pass her off and flee for a while once La Muerte came home.

            For the time being, however, he refused to move. All he could do was stare at the little creature in his arms as if she were a puzzle he were trying to solve. Every now and then, he saw the crimson feathers of her wings peeking out from behind her back, and they would twitch in her sleep, which brought an inadvertent smile to his lips. At least when she was sleeping, she couldn’t hurt herself. As he continued to watch over her, his breathing began to sync up with hers, and her warmth was making him surprisingly comfortable. Without meaning to, he began to fall asleep sitting up, sure to keep the little one safe in his arms.

**…**

            When he woke, quite some time later, he was alone. Upon realizing this, he sat bolt upright, horrified. Where could she have gone?! It wasn’t as if she could have left on her own; if she wasn’t there, it meant someone had _taken_ her. The idea made his stomach churn. After a quick and frenzied search of the room, he fled the palace to find a group of the dead gathered at the foot of the stairs. La Muerte was there, as well. As he was searching for the words to explain—and writing his epitaph for when his wife killed him for losing her child—he noticed that most of the assembled spirits were older women. In among the thick, layered dresses and bleach-white skeletal arms, he saw a golden glow, which he quickly recognized as Amaris’s blanket. Hesitantly, he approached his love, who was amiably observing as the ladies fawned over the baby.

            “Amor?” When she heard his voice, she turned to him with a smile.

            “Buenos días, mi vida. How did your babysitting go?” she asked, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You seemed very cozy when I came home.”

            “Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked, breathing a sigh of relief.

            “I thought you needed the rest after you worked yourself up so much,” she teased. “And I didn’t think you’d be interested in this.” She gestured to the group as they cooed and coddled the child to indicate “this.” He was actually surprised that she had been passed off so easily.

            “Maybe not, but—” He was interrupted by a sudden sob from Amaris, followed by a long wail as she presumably woke and realized she was surrounded by strangers.

            “Oh, don’t cry, pequeña!”

            “The poor thing.”

            “Shh, muñequita, Mami is right here,” La Muerte said, reaching toward her baby—but the woman holding her was still trying to calm her down. As he saw what was happening and heard Amaris still crying, Xibalba felt something unexpected flare up inside him.

            Without a word, he swept through the group of spirits, rescuing the baby as he did. Safely a few meters away, he glared daggers at the group before checking on Amaris. “Hush, Mija; Papi está aquí. Está bien, mi pajarita.” The ladies seemed disappointed, but La Muerte was staring at her husband in silence. Only when one of the spirits called her name did she snap out of her distraction.

            “Well! I think she’s had enough sharing for one day,” she laughed, quickly ushering the protesting ladies away from the palace. “Don’t worry, you’ll get to see her again.” Once they were gone, she rushed to meet her love, overjoyed to see him that way with their daughter. Before she could kiss him, however, he jumped back—to avoid her. For a moment, she was set back; he _never_ rejected her kisses. When she looked askance at him, he seemed rather confused himself.

            “I, er…I didn’t want her to be caught between us?” he muttered, indicating Amaris, whose crying had subsided into occasional sniffles while she held tightly onto one of her father’s fingers. La Muerte’s smile returned, and she met him more slowly this time. Sure to be mindful of Amaris’s presence, she stepped in close to kiss him firmly.

            “You said ‘her,’” she pointed out.

            “Ahem. I may have.”

            “Among other things. Something must have happened while I was away,” she said. “Maybe I should leave you two alone more often.”

            “Please don’t,” he said immediately. “I managed this time, but she’s still much safer with you.” Even so, he didn’t offer her up.

            “Are you sure? You’ve been awfully protective of her ever since she arrived.” He couldn’t deny that. Maybe she had a point.

            “She’s your…er…our child,” he said feebly. “Allowing her to be in danger or unhappy wouldn’t be acceptable.” Could it be that her value to him had changed? The indignation that had compelled him to sweep her away came from his own heart, not from concern for his wife’s “possession.” His eyes turned back down toward Amaris, and his thumb rubbed absently against her arm as he considered.

            “I’m glad you finally understand,” La Muerte agreed. “In spite of yourself, mi vida, I think you’ll make a good father.”


End file.
